


I'll Be There When You Need Me

by Gabethebabe



Category: Roswell (TV), The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Achilles is Max, Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Don't Have to Know Canon, Helen is Isabella, M/M, Not Beta Read, Patroclus is Liz, by that I mean Roswell canon it can just be read as an au rather than a crossover, if this was longer then Hector would have been Kyle but I'm a lazy little twink, leggo, one day I will write a canonverse one shot, this has been sitting in my google doc for a year now and in my drafts for a month so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabethebabe/pseuds/Gabethebabe
Summary: “Uh- you’re fine. You just-” Achilles said and searched his mind desperately for something, anything, to explain what just happened. Patroclus looked up at him, conscious again and confused. Achilles’ eyes landed on a broken ketchup bottle that had been dragged down by Patroclus in his fall. He picked it up, standing as he did, and spilled what was left of it on Patroclus’ shirt. “- you fainted and spilled some ketchup on yourself.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me: wow this is the most self indulgent thing I’ve ever written lmao  
> Me: *remembers that I wrote Hector seducing Patroclus*  
> Me: *remembers that I wrote transgirl Achilles*  
> Me: *remembers that I am currently writing Paris/Patroclus*  
> Me: nvm

“Thank you and come again!” Patroclus said with his per usual service-with-a-smile work voice. The customer he had just rung up gave a curt nod and left.

Across the diner, in the back booth he _always_ occupied, Achilles watched the interaction. He kept a fond smile on his face as Patroclus walked out from behind the checkout counter and made his way towards the back where he was. For a brief moment he imagined Patroclus walking up to his table and asking him out, or even just _smiling_ at him, but Patroclus walked right past him without so much as glancing at him. Like he always did. 

“Dude, I’m trying to eat here.” Sarpedon said.

“and?” Was the half interest at best reply Achilles gave. Had he bothered to look away from his favorite waiter, he would have seen the eyeroll that Sarpedon gave and maybe even the arch look Helen shot at him. Instead he found it impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t the way Patroclus had leaned over a nearby table.

“ _And_ you making puppy eyes at that-” Sarpedon leaned in so that only Helen and Achilles would hear him, the next word almost spat with disgust “- _human_ -” he leaned back out “-is making it really hard for me to find my appetite.”

Even as he said it Sarpedon took another bite of his hot-sauce covered burger. Achilles made a sound, something between a breath out and a soundless laugh. “Then don’t look at me while I’m looking at him.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, Sarpedon’s got a point.” Helen said, practically scoffed, and crossed her arms over her chest. She lowered her voice, not leaning in like Sarpedon had but instead speaking so quietly that Achilles missed most of what she had said in his distracted state. “You being so interest in a human is bad news. If something were to come of it, what would stop you from telling him the truth about us and compromising the rest of us?”

“Yeah because that’s great first date conversation. Hey, I know we just started talking but do you want to meet my family? Oh, before you meet them I should tell you that we’re aliens who came here when our spaceship crashed on your planet. Oh, and it wasn’t just _a_ spaceship crash but _the_ spaceship crash. You know the one in 1947? The one the diner you work as, the Crash Down, is named after?” He shot back, sarcasm wrapped tight as a vice around each word. Achilles knew, deep down inside of him, that if he and Patroclus were to ever have a serious relationship that he would have to tell him the truth at some point, but those thoughts were little more than pipedreams to him at that moment. He had barely even been able to get Patroclus to look his way despite the two of them sharing a lab station in Biology.

“Keep it down would you?” Helen hissed, extending her arm across the table to slap his shoulder. “You want these UFO junkies to hear you?”

Achilles rubbed his shoulder and pouted. His eyes flickered over to where Patroclus was standing-- near the opening where kitchen staff put finished orders-- then back to Helen. “Please, Hels, these people are all here for a UFO festival. Plus they all think we look like little green jello monsters. I doubt any government authority is going to take them seriously.”

“That doesn’t mean we should let ourselves be sloppy.” Sarpedon interjected, his burger now reduced to nothing more than red sauce stains on his _Roswell High P.E._ shirt. “I mean, today it’s being overheard by wouldbe cryptologists, tomorrow it’s being strapped to a dissection table in Quantico.”

Achilles opened his mouth to make a retort, but the sudden sound of an argument turning violent interrupted him. A few tables down from his booth two men, who had previously been speaking in harsh but hushed words, began to openly yell at each other. It seemed to be about nothing in particular, at least from what Achilles could make out, but the confrontation continued to heat up by the second. Then one of the men stood up from the table-- and for a brief moment Achilles had assumed he was making to leave-- and pulled out a gun. Achilles’ eyes widened and beside him Sarpedon cursed. He shifted in their booth, poised to move to break up the fight, but both of his friends held him back. He didn’t have to look back to see the looks on their faces to know why they held him back. Achilles was fast-- faster than any human-- and if too many people saw this ability it would put them all at risk. He backed down, feeling helpless, and sunk back in the booth.

His eyes instinctively went back to check on Patroclus. He was still standing by the kitchen window, where he had been minutes ago, but now his whole frame shook with fear. His owl-like eyes were impossibly wide and his hands were gripping his order pad so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Guilt flooded Achilles. Patroclus was so scared and he couldn’t do anything to comfort him or diffuse the situation. Brown eyes then met green-- something that had only happened in Achilles’ most embarrassing daydreams-- and the guilt inside of him almost seized him entirely. Patroclus had looked him. _Patroclus had looked at him._

But before he could question it further or entertain any notion of exactly what the gesture meant, the gun went off. The man who had brandished it fired it, but as he did the other hit it out of his hand, causing the shot to fire out unaimed through the restaurant. Screams sounded off around him, but all Achilles was aware of was the sudden look of pain on Patroclus’ face followed by him falling to the ground.

Achilles didn’t remember much of what happened between the Patroclus getting shot and saving his life. He didn't remember standing. He didn’t remember breaking free of Helen and Sarpadon’s duel grasps. He didn’t remember jumping over the counter and kneeling beside of where Patroclus lay dying. What he did remember was looking down at the growing red stain on Patroclus’ uniform shirt and blaming himself.

“Ah- ah-” Patroclus started, but Achilles shushed him.

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that no one would see what he was about to do. Everyone else at the dinner had been so caught up in their own friends and making sure they, themselves, were okay that they hadn’t noticed the unlucky waiter that had caught the stray bullet. He looked back down at Patroclus and shuttered. His normally mint green button up was now stained red with blood and his body shook and twitched with pain. Achilles didn’t think- couldn't think- about the consequences of what he was about to do.

He tore off Patroclus’ shirt. He instantly found where the bullet had entered. A bloody pink mess on the right side of his stomach that made Patroclus seem more vulnerable, more _human,_ than ever. Achilles cursed and placed his hand over the wound. A golden glow emitted from his hand and the blood that had been gushing out stopped as his powers worked at healing the wound. Under him, Patroclus made a soft grunting noise and by nothing short of a miracle the light slowly returned to his eyes. Patroclus gasped and his whole body flinched when his wound had fully healed, like Achilles had somehow managed to restart him.

He removed his hand from Patroclus’ chest and covered him back up with the torn remains of his shirt.

“Uh- you’re fine. You just-” Achilles said and searched his mind desperately for something, anything, to explain what just happened. Patroclus looked up at him, conscious again and confused. Achilles’ eyes landed on a broken ketchup bottle that had been dragged down by Patroclus in his fall. “- you fainted and spilled some ketchup on yourself.”

It was a weak excuse but Achilles was desperate enough to run with it. Before Patroclus could say or ask anything he turned, jumped over the counter and all but ran to where Helen and Sarpedon were waiting for him with identical glares. _Half-siblings._ He cursed inwardly. The three of them made their way out of the restaurant as soon as they could-- before any police could get there or before any onlookers could ask any questions about Achilles’ blood stained hand.

 

Patroclus stood. The world felt fuzzy and distant to him and black danced at the edge of his vision, but he didn’t care. He didn’t know what had just happened, but something told him that what Achilles said wasn’t entirely true. He watched Achilles leave with Helen and Sarpedon-- only able to stare dumbly as Achilles cast one final glance in his direction before leaving.

A few police officers arrived at the dinner not too long after that. The annual UFO festival already had them on high alert. Two approached him, asking him about the red stain across his shirt. He only wrapped his shirt tighter around his torso, unaware of the strange mark that was already forming there, and shook his head that _no, I’m fine. It’s just ketchup._ They believed him. Not easily but after several minutes of reassurance they eventually bought the story that Achilles had told him, and took his statement. He told them about the argument, about a gun going off, and apologized that he didn’t know much else. They told him it was normal to blackout in times of high stress and moved on to the other waiter, Briseis, to get her statement.

Patroclus watched the aftermath unfold, gently playing with one of the broken buttons on his shirt. The officers may have bought Achilles’ story, but Patroclus still couldn't quite believe it. His shirt had been torn open, almost like it had been done by force. Even in his clumsiest of moments he had never managed to do something like that.

Patroclus closed his eyes, shutting out the chaos that had taken over the cafe, and tried to make himself remember what happen. He remembered an argument. He remembered looking at Achilles. He remembered hearing a gun go off...and then nothing. The next thing he remembered after that was a searing pain in his abdomen and Achilles standing over him, dumping ketchup on his shirt.

 _His shirt._ He realized he had been given a perfect excuse to slip away from the diner for the evening. Patroclus excused himself to no one in particular, his co-workers all pulling out their phones or trying to use the restaurant's line to call someone, and slipped away into the back room so he could change. His manager took one look at him, rolled his eyes, and dismissed him for the day. Patroclus thanked him. As he left, he resolved to find out the truth of what had happened to him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so very much for reading this! Have a wonderful day! <3
> 
> P.S. sorry for any mistakes! It was not beta read nor did I spent too terribly long on this. I just got the idea for this while binge re-watching Roswell around this time last year. 
> 
> P.P.S. I'm accepting one-shot/ficlet prompts on [my tumblr](www.desdamonasghost.tumblr.com). If you decide to send me something, I promise it won't end up sitting in my docs for a year (probably).


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